A Moderne Guide To Witchcraft: A Magical Comedy

By Gloria Stern

Imagine a very special book, a secret and powerful book, full of magic and the knowledge of the ancients.
Travel with this book as it passes through the hands of some of the most notable historical figures, Constantine the Great, Charlemagne, Leonardo da Vinci, and Aleister Crowley. From 300 AD and the newly created capital of the Holy Roman Empire, across the Mediterranean, Europe and the Atlantic Ocean to North America where it eventually winds up in the tiny town of Armadillo, Texas in the present day.
Meet Claire Wisinski, middle-aged, divorced, brewery worker and dreamer. She finds the ancient tome at a yard sale and along with her two best friends Becky and Laura Beth, set about unlocking its secrets. Things go pretty well for their efforts, until the book’s use catches the attention of the Heavenly Host and then all Hell breaks loose.
Enter sixty-seven-year-old Susan Linkinogger, reluctant Madam, Voodoo Princess, and Zombie Killer. She senses the book’s presence too and Heaven help us because it just might take all her ladies of the night, several hundred rounds of incendiary shotgun shells and maybe even a little bit of angel magic to save the town of Armadillo from the looming apocalypse.
* WARNING*
This story contains sexual innuendo and occasional use of the word sperm.
If either of these offends you, please do not buy this book. You won’t like it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Wagner
• Release date: Jan 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463947876

Gloria Stern

Gloria is a hopeless recluse who lives quietly somewhere in the hills of West Virginia. She writes constantly and has little time left for anything else.

Book preview

Armadillo, Texas - Present Day

Blazing hot sun beat down on a barren stretch of dried up desert as a lonely clump of tumbleweed rolled slowly across an empty four-lane highway. Cicadas grated and grinded in the midday sun. A tiny horned toad lizard peeked its head out from underneath a rock briefly and then turned right around and crawled back again. A cooler breeze blew across the hot asphalt and with its passing, fractured rays of distorted sunlight shimmered in the blinding brightness, creating mirages out of the blast furnace like sweltering heat.

A mighty roar split the placid scenery as a lone eighteen-wheeler approached at speed, disappearing again just as quickly, leaving in its wake a roiling cloud of dust and diesel exhaust fumes.

The small West Texas town of Armadillo was originally named after the tenacious New World placental mammal that resides there. This is partially due to the fact that during the Great Depression of the 1930s, more than a few of the town’s folk made it through the slim times by catching and eating them.

The town's resilient housecat sized possums-on-a-half-shell survive solely on a diet of garbage, cockroaches and fire ants and run the streets like overgrown armored rats through a giant research laboratory maze.

The sun scorched landscape surrounding Armadillo, Texas is generally flat, brown, and depressing. The streets are constantly covered with a thick coating of grey brown dust and nothing grows there, even the children are stunted. Oil pump jacks are a regular sight around the town and one-room churches are almost as common.

Considered a territory of northern Mexico until the mid eighteen hundreds, the town of Armadillo has one thousand one hundred and four residents and a population density of only ninety-six people per square mile. They have a truck stop, two bars, a Porky’s grocery store, a Jack in the Box, two beer distributers, and four drug stores.

Beer is the elixir of life for the town’s residents, and its fountain of youth, The Suds Brewery and Bottling Company is located on the east side, right beside the trailer park. The brewery employs most of the town’s residents; the remainder work either for the school system or in the oil and gas industry.

There are four hundred and sixty-eight households in Armadillo, of which two hundred and eighty-five are manufactured mobile housing, AKA trailers. A few can be found scattered across the barren landscape, but the majority of the portable castles grace the illustrious lots of Armadillo Heights, one of the largest trailer parks in the state of Texas.

The Heights is like a city unto itself with its own complex layers of social strata and status. The lots located closest to the brewery are what is known as Workers Row and consist mainly of older singlewides that the owner doesn’t want hogging up the premium lots in the front of the park. On the west side is the main office and welcome center, available for parties, weddings, and other social gatherings for a small fee. This area is also where the upper crust lives and is reserved exclusively for the newer double and triplewides.

Just outside of town, the terrain turns into desolate moonscape, with wellheads, oil and gas storage tanks, and cacti sticking up here and there for as far as the eye can see. The highway and the state roads intersect on the north side of town and that’s where the truck stop, the grocery store and the majority of the other businesses are located.

Susan’s Suds and Soaks is there too and serves as a coin operated laundromat, pay per use bathhouse, nail salon and low key bordello in the three small campers parked out back.

The entire eleven square miles of town proper is unincorporated and other than the post office, the nearest government building is fifty miles away at the Ector County seat in Clearfield. The sheriff’s department usually only comes to town to serve warrants and evict deadbeats, and the state police only patrol once or twice during the day, but won’t answer calls any other time unless somebody is dead or going to jail.

Overall, life in Armadillo, Texas is mostly adequate, if you don’t mind living in the desert.

Chapter 2

Constantinople (not Istanbul) - 324 AD

Grand High Magister in-exile Lou F hr paused briefly in his task and looked up just as the evening sun disappeared over the heavily fortified walls of the ancient city. The smell of fish and raw sewage wafted through the open front window of his apartment. The roar of the ocean echoed in the distance, mingled with the sound of migratory birds on the wind.

Lou had just finished putting the final touches on his latest experiment. He yawned, ran his fingers through his short curly brown hair and stood back to admire his work. The small leather Coptic bound book appeared unassuming enough in the dim lamplight of the room, but it was actually his last ditch defense against the ever-encroaching forces of unreason in the world. After a tremendous amount of effort and even more research, Lou finally found a way to open a portal into another dimension.

There’s so much I still don’t understand about it, he shook his head sadly, but I can’t help feeling like I’m running out of time.

Always a scholar, Lou’s sole purpose in life has been to figure out and understand how things work, and then to teach others. Enlightenment is the path to greatness, he thought as he focused his powers on the book, willing the picture on the cover to change. He smirked as it now displayed a very attractive nude picture of the Greek goddess Athena bathing under a clear mountain waterfall while a young Tiresias leered at her voyeuristically from behind a clump of bushes. The detailed colored etching was captured in the moment right before, according to legend; Athena spied Tiresias creeping on her and struck him permanently blind for his gross impiety.

The book is the dimensional doorway itself and it currently leads to a special room that Lou has been preparing. The room is a timeless sanctuary stocked with everything that he should need in the event of an emergency, including his most cherished books, his favorite meerschaum pipe, and a lifetime supply of special Turkish smoking blend.

No sense roughing it, he thought with a wry grin.

The only catch to the whole thing and the main reason he has been reluctant to try out his new doomsday escape pod, is the fact that he still isn’t sure how to leave the room once he enters. All of his research indicates that he should be able to come and go as he pleases, but for some reason he doesn’t trust it. His apprehension was justified a month ago when he sent the neighbor lady’s cat into the book as an experiment. When Lou attempted to coax him back out with a nice piece of fish, the feline was more than willing to comply, but each time he tried to exit he hit what appeared to be an invisible wall and ran away yowling. Lou stopped seeing the cat after a week.

Hopefully I’ll have enough time to figure out what’s going on and fix it.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard a strange rumbling sound coming from outside his apartment. He ran to the window to see the street below awash in garish yellow torchlight. Tall shadows danced and swayed on the building fronts like giants out for a twilight stroll. The rumbling noise grew louder and soon revealed itself to be the slap of leather sandaled feet on cobblestones belonging to a century of armed Roman legionaries.

I wonder what they’re doing out at this hour, he thought as they marched up the street toward him.

The presence of martial authority in the city has increased considerably since the Emperor has been tossing around the idea of making Byzantium the capitol of the Holy Roman Empire. In addition, Constantine’s recent official conversion to Christianity is wreaking havoc on the city’s Pagan and Jewish communities alike, unreasonably branding things demonic that they don’t understand, like science and mathematics. Just last week, Dialogopus, the poor mad old philosopher was publicly flogged for declaring that the universe is shaped like a corkscrew.

Lou has always tried to keep his head down. Paranoia is an effective survival trait and recent events have forced him to see that as an outspoken scholar it was only a matter of time before they came for him too.

He felt a rush of relief when the first four rows of soldiers in the column marched right past his front door and kept on going down the street. That feeling quickly turned to one of bowel clenching horror as the column abruptly stopped and the leader pointed up and started shouting orders to his men.

A small group of heavily armed soldiers quickly separated from the column and headed to the back entrance of his apartment. He could hear another squad downstairs battering his front door as he ran to the reading pedestal that held his magical book.

I guess it’s now or never, he thought hopefully as he glanced over his shoulder one more time.

With the intense racket threatening his concentration, Lou pulled a scarab shaped golden pendant out of his robes, held it over his head and twisted a tiny knob on the back. Saying a small prayer to whatever dimensional portal spirits there are, he closed his eyes and recited the complex series of almost nonsense syllables that made up the transference incantation. He stopped in mid-sentence when the door downstairs gave way with a crash.

As the soldiers stomped down the hall to the stairs, he uttered the last line of the spell and felt himself yanked bodily forward. He smacked his head on the way into the room and dropped to the floor barely conscious. There was more crashing and banging outside as Lou staggered over to peer through the little round window that was the front cover of the book.

The scene was total chaos. Soldiers destroyed his laboratory with reckless abandon. They smashed his hand blown distillation globes, his collection of custom-ground crystal prisms and his plaster bust of Socrates. Without warning, there was a dull thump and a bright flash as an explosion rocked the room knocking down a few of the soldiers and setting them on fire in the process.

Hmm, he frowned and shook his head sadly, and that would have been my supply of white phosphorus and carbon disulfide mixing together, the great clumsy oafs.

In a matter of seconds, the apartment was ablaze. They pulled Lou’s vast library of books and scrolls off the shelves and threw them into the fire along with what little flammable furniture he owned.

The commanding officer stepped into Lou’s view just then. He looked down at the book’s cover and smiled, glancing behind him guiltily before picking the book up and stuffing it under his armor.

Lou was in the dark now and all he could see was curly chest hair and pale skin. He was vaguely worried about how he was going to leave the book, but judging by the sounds of destruction in his apartment he was just happy to escape with his life.

Armadillo, Texas - Present Day

An intense cacophonic symphony of clanging and clanking surrounded forty-two-year-old Claire Wisinski. A strange all-pervasive tangy aroma of yeast, fermented grains, and white lithium grease filled the air. Underneath all the noise was a constant low subliminal rumble that she could feel in her teeth.

Claire stared with barely concealed indifference as a long row of brown glass bottles rattled past on the conveyer line. Her hypnotic gaze might have been mistaken for comatose if it weren’t for the fact that she was gritting her teeth and humming to herself at the same time. Her shoulder length brown hair was tucked up neatly into a severe ponytail that was completely obscured by a hygienic paper hairnet. Her petite middle-aged figure was covered from head to toe with a sterile blue, one-piece clean suit, right down to the disposable footies.

In one fluid movement, she jumped up and snatched a bottle off the line like a frog going after a fly. She deftly flipped the bottle up with one hand and noted the folded over label with a satisfied smile before depositing it on the plastic cart sitting beside her and returning her attention to the line.

Working graveyard shift on the production line at the Suds Brewery & Bottling Company isn’t the best job in the world, but it could be worse. Yeah I could be filing nails at Susan’s Suds and Soaks, or even worse, she frowned, working out back with 'the girls.'

Claire applied for a position at the old brewery shortly after leaving her now ex-husband Dale. The biggest downside of working third shift is that you don’t have a social life. Probably because normal people sleep at night when they’re supposed to.

The production line had been running for two hours straight, which was a record by most standards. As if to accentuate the milestone, finished bottles of beer started crashing to the floor near the end. Claire rolled her eyes and hit the emergency stop button.

Looks like it’s break time, Darlin, a low seductive voice called from behind her.

Claire turned around to see her best friend Becky Taylor come sauntering up peeling off her leather utility gloves one at a time like a vaudevillian stripper at a high dollar burlesque show. She winked, pulled off her hairnet, and shook a big clump of wavy red hair out of her eyes, Come on, let’s go outside.

They walked out the back door to the picnic tables. The early morning night air was cool and the trailer park was dark except for the dusk to dawn lights positioned just far enough away from each other to create deep shadows. Essence of wet cigarette butts hung heavy in the air from the recently rain filled ashtrays. In the distance, Claire could hear the rumble of diesel engines from the big rigs idling at the truck stop.

I figured I’d find you two out here, Laura Beth Meyers walked out just then, leaving the metal security door slam loudly against the wooden block that held it open. She was still wearing a lab coat that was unbuttoned to reveal the pink Hello Kitty tank top and matching short-shorts that she had on underneath.

Oh hey girl, Claire smiled as Laura Beth sat down beside her, I was thinking about going walking this morning after work, are you up for it?

Laura Beth smiled, pushed her cat-eye glasses up, and squinted. Sure, I don’t have class until this afternoon and Buck said he’d be busy all day.

When Claire turned to Becky she grinned and nodded vigorously, Oh you know I’m up for it Sweetie, I just have to stop by the trailer and make sure Hal gets up for work on time. It shouldn’t take but a minute.

Great, so we’ll meet at my place? Just then, Claire heard the alarms going off telling her that the production line was starting again.

Well I guess that’s our cue, she stood up reluctantly and headed back to work.

Becky Taylor breezed in the front door of her trailer and ran straight back the narrow hallway to the master bedroom. Her husband was lying on his back, his CPAP machine whistling and blowing rhythmically, sounding strangely enough like a coffee maker with an upper respiratory infection.

Hal Honey wake up, she called softly.

When he didn’t respond she nudged him, Hal Sweetie, it’s time to get up and go to work.

When he still didn’t wake up she slapped him roughly on the leg, Halston Thoroughgood Taylor you get your lily white ass up right now!

When he kept sleeping, she put a hand over the air hole of his anti-snoring mask. Hal sputtered and sat up, Wha, wha, what the hell Becky you tryin to kill me or somethin?

Well I could have and you probably would have slept right through it as hard as you are to wake up, she frowned down at him with both hands on her tiny hips. Now come on get up and get ready for work. I’m going out walking with the girls.

But who’s gonna make me breakfast? He whined.

Becky pulled her work pants off and ran across the bedroom in her underwear. She slipped into a pair of flowered yoga pants answering his question with a question. Good lord Hal did the maid die and leave you helpless? There’s cereal in the cupboard, you do know how to manage that don’t you?

There’s no need to be rude about it Beck, he pouted.

Rude? Hal I’m just telling you the god’s honest truth. I can’t help it if you got delicate sensibilities. Feeling a surge of impatience she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, I have to get going. The girls are waitin.

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling for a second and tapped her foot then stomped out of the room before Hal could say anything else. She hated to be that way with him, but she was getting tired, tired of having to take care of him like a little baby twenty-four-seven, tired of him never wanting to do anything, and just plain old tired of being tired. Hal works hard when he’s on the job, but when he’s home, all he ever wants to do is stuff his face with junk and watch TV.

Becky Taylor fell hard for the American dream early on, or I should say the southern dream. Ever since she was a little girl she had her future all planned out. Marry a man who works in the oil and gas industry and I’m set. A doublewide trailer in a nice park, a red Mustang convertible in the driveway and I’d never have to work a day in my life.

It wasn’t long after Becky made it to that dream that the lot rent in the park went up, the engine in her Mustang took a crap and the roof started leaking in the bedroom of their illustrious McMansion doublewide. It was at that point she realized in order to get everything fixed and keep it all going financially she was going to have to go to work too.

Hal makes good money. He works as a certified tank welder, one of the most highly compensated and secure jobs in the petroleum industry, but he was brought up old school where the woman does all the housework and the man brings home the money. She frowned, that was fine when he was the only one working.

Becky hurried in between the yards to Claire’s trailer. She has been on a strict diet for the last three months and was trying to get more exercise in spite of the fact that Hal weighs over three hundred pounds and has no desire to do anything about it.

Aside from Hal’s sexual attractiveness level or lack thereof, his health is what worries me the most.

In the past two years alone he has been diagnosed with CHD, OHS, AODM, CHF, COPD, GERD, PAD, and a few other medical acronyms added in to boot, with the occasional bout of SAD during the winter months. In addition to the Continuous Positive Airway Pressure machine that he has to wear every night for his sleep apnea, he also has a big handful of assorted medications that, according to his doctor, he needs to take three times a day without fail.

When Becky first married Hal, they were both slightly overweight. Hal has gotten much heavier over the years, while I have slimmed down considerably.

Yet every day she sends him off to work with a lunch pail full of healthy nutritious foods and every night he comes home with his pail full of empty snack food wrappers. He used to hide it and she thought he was doing better until she started finding the wrappers on the floor of his truck. Frank’s 'Devil Dings,' Little Darlings 'Nutter Sticks,' TastiSnak 'Chocó Hoes,' and his favorite; banana cream filled 'Twerkies.'

It’s like he doesn’t even try anymore.

By the time she walked in the door of Claire’s trailer, her BBF’s were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. I’m sorry I took so long guys, she rolled her eyes. Hal was still sleeping.

Claire shrugged, That’s OK; I just made coffee, want some?

Oh yeah, with my diet I need something to pick me up.

Then why do you do it? Laura Beth asked innocently.

Becky pulled up her shirt to reveal her mostly ripped six-pack abdominal muscles. Laura Beth whistled and touched the exposed stomach, Wow! Looking good girl, she slapped her own thin layer of twenty-year-old flab, I wish mine was that firm.

Well you could always join me.

Eww, are you kidding me? Laura Beth rolled her eyes, I saw the stuff you’ve been eating lately.

What? It doesn’t taste half bad.

"I didn’t say it tasted bad, hell it probably doesn’t have any taste at